Chapter 19 Evan
EVAN
Of course I jerk off. Do I really need to say it?
How does he think I nap? But oh, shit, the way his gaze roams up my bare legs and over my ass before it pops to my face has me pulling a pillow down to cover my crotch.
The man is on my bed, practically reeking of Isaac, and I still get hard for him.
Or maybe it’s the scent of Isaac I’m responding to.
Muscle memory or something like that. After two days of spending every waking second with my dad and stepmom practically glued to me, I was looking forward to being alone and having some fucking space, but all I can think with Deacon in my bed is that I wish he were closer, crowding me.
I was pretty proud of myself for pushing him away the other night––for about ten minutes, and then regret set in.
Deacon was finally willing to kiss me, and even if it was a pity kiss, I should have taken it.
Then I could stop imagining what it would be like.
Now when I’m jerking off, I’m stuck with all these weird, split screen fantasies that start off imagining kissing Deacon, but then my dumb Isaac brain takes over with real memories and known sensations, and I pretty much always come to a memory of Isaac coming.
It’s all very pathetic and depressing, but I know I need to be a good sport about it if I want to keep my job and my apartment. Not that I think either man would kick me to the curb, but I’m worried about my own ability to tolerate seeing the two of them in a serious relationship.
Still, I need to give it some time. It might not be as bad as I’m imagining.
Also, they’re not the only two guys in town.
I just need to get out more and find my own date.
I wonder if I can borrow Sam and Calyx’s girlfriends Rachel and Priya.
They know how to have a good time, and I’m sure they know plenty of people.
Maybe after a month in the gym, though. Ever since I stopped doing the cam boy thing, I haven’t been paying as much attention to my arms and abs. They’re not flabby, but they could use some buffing up. Yeah—a month sounds reasonable.
“I’m not leaving it out,” I say to Deacon in regards to leaving out a “crucial” coping skill. “I just figured jerking off was a given.”
His gaze drifts down my body again, this time stopping at the edge of my white crew socks. I cross my feet self-consciously. “What are you thinking about?” I ask after he stares for several seconds.
“What you’re wearing,” he says.
“What about it?”
“I was thinking I’m the only person who ever sees you like this. Unless this is what you wore at your dad’s house.”
My heart rate picks up. “Something like it. Longer shorts.”
“Why?”
“I don’t need my stepmom seeing my nutsack.”
“You don’t wear underwear?”
Where the hell is this headed? “It’s fifty-fifty.
” I realize this is Deacon, and sometimes he just says random things.
If he’s got any game, I’ve never seen it, but I like to think Isaac isn’t the easiest man to seduce, so maybe Deacon has a few techniques.
Not that he’s using any of them here. Right?
It occurs to me I haven’t had sex in going on five days, which is kind of a long time. I wouldn’t call myself sex-driven or obsessed, but my dick is acting like it’s been forced into starvation, and Deacon is a potential snack, which explains the big boner I’m hiding.
“Are you wearing any now?”
“No comment,” I say.
“I’m guessing no.”
Good guess. I didn’t think I was going to see anyone tonight. I got home, took a shower and a nap before I got up to code. No briefs required. Now, however… I’m not sure how I feel about freeballing it.
“You definitely don’t repulse me,” he says.
I blink hard.
He goes on like he’s having the conversation with himself. “I never noticed you were interested. I guess I miss signals, but Bailey says it’s obvious.”
“You talked to Bailey about me?” I whisper, not really wanting to interrupt his train of thought, but unable to help myself when he name dropped our friend.
“Like I should have given you a chance.”
I can’t tell if that’s an answer, an admission, or an excuse. I shut my mouth. While I should be stopping this and encouraging him to go off and do his own thing, I’ve been craving a certain kind of attention from Deacon for months, and this might not be that exactly, but it’s in the neighborhood.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asks.
“I thought you had someone. You were gone every weekend. Also, I wasn’t sure you were gay.”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“I don’t know,” I have to admit. “You’re shy. It felt intrusive.”
“I’m not shy with you, am I?”
“A little. You’re quiet.”
“Because this is what happens when I talk.”
He’s being way too hard on himself. I love talking to him. “Can I ask you something else instead, then?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Are you and Isaac exclusive?”
“No.” The word is firm and definitive.
“Do you want to be?”
He reaches out to slide his fingers over my ankle, just above the edge of my sock. “Not yet.”
His touch brings every iota of my awareness to that spot. My blood is busy filling my dick, but I swear I feel his fingertips more than my erection.
“Not yet” is a rough answer. It implies exclusivity is on the horizon, which means things are likely going well between the two of them. Moving forward. Which makes this all the more confusing.
There’s a part of me that wants to do the right thing and move my feet away, sit up and establish a boundary, but there’s a bigger, more sensitive part that wants to roll onto my back and spread my legs.
“I guess it’s a little soon, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah. But there’s also this.”
Does he mean me?
“Deacon, if you’re not interested, it doesn’t matter what Bailey or anyone says. I don’t want to be your experiment to see if you were missing out before you have a legit boyfriend.”
He huffs. “That’s not what this is.”
Oh, God. Well, that’s mortifying.
I pull my knees up, moving my ankles and feet out of reach. “Sorry. Misread that.”
He turns, gets onto his hands and knees and crawls up the bed until he’s next to me. Then he lies down on his side, bringing us face to face. I think I gasp.
He reaches for the pillow between us. “I’m just saying it’s way simpler than all that.”
In something like shock, I let him have the pillow, and he tosses it to the foot of the bed. He takes a look at what I’ve been hiding and grins before meeting my eyes. “See? Simple.”
“I mean, I guess you could look at it that way.” I am soooo embarrassed.
Then he puts a hand on my hip and runs it up my side, under my hoodie. His warm hand on my skin feels hotter than lava.
“Wow,” I breathe. “I guess you’re not shy.”
“I am,” he says. “But there are exceptions. Isaac was an exception.”
“You weren’t shy with him?” I ask, somehow unbothered at the mention of Isaac this time. Or the nearly overwhelming scent of him. Deacon’s knuckles running across my abs is doing a lot of work to make this unlikely scenario seem perfectly normal and good.
“No. I made the first move.”
“What was the move?”
“I kissed him at a sushi bar.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I was pretty hard up that night. Kinda like now.”
“I guess that explains the hand,” I say.
“You have nice abs. That’s why the hand,” he says.
“And your erection?” I ask, because yeah. I looked. I noticed. I’m not the only one pitching a tent.
“You have a nice ass, too.”
“Thanks.”
“The best ass maybe. Everyone’s always talking about your ass. I try not to notice, but it’s not always possible.”
“Why not notice?” I ask.
“Because crushing on your roommate sucks.”
I sigh. “Yeah. It does.”
“But here we are,” he says.
“Are we, though? This feels very out of the blue.”
“Really? Because I feel like I had to wait all weekend.” Deacon’s hand moves down my outer thigh, then to the top of my thigh over the shorts.
“I’m sure you and Isaac found plenty of ways to pass the time.”
“Yeah, but we talked about you, too.”
I groan. “I wish you wouldn’t. I can stay out of it, I swear.” I say that, but I’m also lifting my knee to part my thighs, in case he wants to explore some more.
He does, his hand moving immediately to my inner thigh and groin, his fingertips slipping into the hem of my shorts to glide along the super sensitive skin. I suck in a shaky breath and fight to keep my eyes open. “Do you still want me?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I sigh, heart pounding. Because I’m pathetic.
“I’m right here.”
Does he want me to touch him? I wouldn’t even know where to start. “This is an interesting side of you,” I say. “Unexpected.” So unexpected I think I might be dreaming this.
He goes ahead and pulls my cock out of my shorts and strokes it a few slow, breath-stealing times. “What’d you expect?”
My head is fucking exploding. “I thought you’d need more encouragement. Convincing. Instructions.”
“You’re welcome to give me instructions.” His weight shifts. While his hand moves fully into my shorts to free my cock and balls, he moves lower on the bed.
I lie back, as wanton as I get, and lift my hoodie to reveal my stomach.
The warm skin of his cheek meets my lower abs. Deacon positions my cock with his fist wrapped around it, his tongue licks out across my slit, and I bite my lip on a low groan.
“Is this okay?” he asks, when it’s already way too late for me to refuse. Not that I would have.
“Mmhm. Can I touch you?”
He murmurs an assent, and I jam my fingers through his thick, dark hair.
It’s borderline aggressive, and he responds accordingly, wrapping his mouth around my crown.
I fight the urge to thrust. It feels so good.
So hot. So tight. I don’t get many blow jobs.
I tend to give them, but the handful I’ve had were all great. No notes.
This being Deacon, however, with his body curled into my side and his fingers massaging my sac—I feel wholly out of my element and therefore a little too turned on.
“Easy,” I whisper.
He pops off to grip my shaft and give it a series of long, wet licks.
Precum is already spilling. I don’t have to see it to know it’s a lot.
“This is a bad idea,” I say, suddenly remembering why we shouldn’t be doing this.
He likes Isaac. Isaac likes him. They’d be good together.
I’m in the way. I don’t want to be some pawn they use to do damage to each other the same way my parents used me growing up.
I need to find my way out of this, not sink deeper into it.
But I am sinking.
Deacon hums along my length, planting lingering kisses as he goes. Instead of tugging at his hair, I run my fingers through it again and again to cool this off. His hair is so soft. Softer than it looks.
“Seriously,” I tell him. “We shouldn’t.”
“Do you not want to?” He sucks on my tip again, and I crumble.
“I do…I do want to. Of course I do.”
I tried. Sort of.
One by one, he feeds himself my balls, taking his time sucking delicately and then more aggressively.
I can barely stand it. My hips move restlessly. My breath is heavy and quick. When he rubs my cock again, the entire shaft is sticky. “You gush,” he says, licking me again.
Oh fuck.
“You taste good,” he says. “Really good.”
“Thank you,” I choke out in a whisper.
“I’m ready for the rest whenever you are,” he tells me, still fondling and kissing.
I’m way too ready. I’m gonna fucking explode.
My restraint snaps. “Put it back in your mouth.”
He engulfs me, immediately taking me to the back of his throat without so much as a cough. When he pulls back, I thrust back in, and he takes it with a lustful groan. It’s tacit permission, or at least I think it is, to go as hard as I need to.
Like I said, I’m not the most experienced at shoving my cock inside anything but my own hand or the occasional toy for one specific fan or another, but my body reacts all on its own, fucking up and into his mouth—his throat—while he tightens his lips around me and starts moving his head in slants and turns that drive me fucking wild.
My hand is gripping now, a chunk of his hair caught in my fist. “Fuck,” I groan. “Fuck. Fuck.”
My ass clenches as my hips lift and tilt, aiming straight for his vocal cords.
He only sucks harder. The release builds deep in my pelvis, and when it blasts, it feels like I’m snapping in half, buckling forward as his mouth grips me even harder to keep me in place.
Gush after gush of my cum shoots into him as he licks and slurps and hums and takes every single drop.
I’m writhing beneath him, against him. I’ve let go of his hair, and I’ve got a grip on the base of his neck as my dick continues to spasm with aftershocks—some easier than others to get through. I’m a mess of disconnected sounds and twitches and fluttering eyelids.
As my body settles, my mind turns to mush. All I hear myself saying is “You, you, you.”
“Where do you want me?”
“Come on my dick. Come on me.”
He uncurls his body and reaches into his pants, extracting his big, swollen erection.
“Or however you want,” I ramble.
He smiles at me, his dimples deep and mesmerizing. “Let me see that ass.”
I turn to my side, past caring what he wants to do with my ass. Everything is on the table. He pulls my shorts the rest of the way down, exposing it. “Goddamn, Evan… That’s so fucking hot.”
“Come on me,” I say again.
“I’m definitely coming.” His breaths quicken. The sounds of his rapid jerking have me clenching for him, making my ass look its best.
“Mmhmm,” he groans, one hand gripping my left butt cheek. “Just like that. Fuck yes. Oh shit…Fuck.”
Warmth sprays my lower back, then I feel a second spurt on my ass.
Another groan, and another jet of cum hits me.
Four or five more have me reaching around to spread my cheeks and let it get all over me.
He shoves his cock in the space I made and ruts through my crack a few times, all slicked up by cum as he continues to twitch with his own aftershocks and pant past his release.
Eventually, his chest presses into my back, and he wraps his arm over me, tucking me into his body. “Maybe we should have done that when you moved in.”
My breath punches out of me, and I close my eyes.
If. Only.